


An Unexpected Surprise

by thehallsoferebor



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Bilbo gives no fucks, Dragon Sickness, Multi, super OOC Smaug, thorin is scary
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-03-29 17:20:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3904537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehallsoferebor/pseuds/thehallsoferebor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>EDIT: On Hiatus until further notice; this will likely be revised and reposted at a later date!!</p><p>After months of traveling, Thorin's Company has finally made it to the Lonely Mountain. </p><p>None of them knew if the dragon was still alive. They all hoped it lay dead somewhere inside, but they would remain uncertain of that fact until Bilbo made the journey into the heart of the mountain.</p><p>When Bilbo enters the mountain, he finds something particularly unusual, and completely unexpected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT: this will be on hiatus until further notice! Sorry, guys. I'm just not feeling this fanfic anymore. Hopefully i'll be able to rewrite it in a way that flows better in the future.

After months of traveling, the ragged group of dwarves (and one hobbit) had finally made it to the Lonely Mountain. Of course, they would never have had made it so far if their burglar, a certain Bilbo Baggins of Bag End, had not been there with them. Through all their challenges and perils, the hobbit had remained a steadfast and loyal companion for all of the dwarves, which made it very difficult for them to send the little hobbit into the mountain claimed by Smaug.

None of them knew if the dragon was still alive. They all hoped it lay dead somewhere inside, but they would remain uncertain of that fact until Bilbo made the journey into the heart of the mountain.

The first time Bilbo entered, he ran as quickly as he could, grabbing the very first piece of gold he laid eyes on, a heavy gold cup, more like a chalice, really, with rubies studded evenly along its width, before turning and running back the way he came, heart hammering in his chest and blood pounding in his ears. When he’d returned to the Company, they had all passed the cup around in awe, amazed that the burglar had actually, well, _burgled._ When Bilbo had explained that he hadn’t gotten a chance to see if the dragon was there or not, the entire Company seemed to deflate just a bit. In their excitement, they had nearly forgotten about the monster hiding within the mountain.

It wasn’t much longer before Bilbo was sent back down into the mountain, looking grim, despite the wane smile he gave the Company before he entered the dark passageway. As he walked blindly in the darkness, his hand reached into his pocket, tracing the shape of the warm ring there with shaking fingers. It brought him some relief, knowing that he at least had his magic ring to accompany him, to make him invisible to Smaug’s eyes.

The darkness of the hallway seemed endless to Bilbo. It pressed on him from every angle, a tingling, unnerving sensation of the walls closing in around him. Bilbo decided then to put on his ring, in hopes of soothing his quite frayed nerves.

It felt like hours before the passageway began lightening up around him, what was once black slowly growing tinged with a green light. As Bilbo continued on, he found himself on a platform, looking out upon a sea of gold.

Those few seconds he had been in the treasury before, Bilbo had barely given himself a chance to actually _see_ anything. He had simply grabbed the cup and ran, admittedly too afraid at the prospect of facing a dragon to try to explore the vast treasury. Yet this time, with the ring snugly hugging his finger, he gave himself the opportunity to observe what he had missed.

Bilbo couldn’t help the gasp that left his lips, which he quickly, in panic, stifled. He began, quite suddenly, to realize how _small_ he was. It was certain, throughout their quest he had felt rather diminutive in the stead of humans, elves, and especially the skinchanger Beorn, but never before had he felt so completely _insignificant_ in comparison to the vast golden landscape he had stepped into.

Never in his life had he seen such an absurd amount of gold. Hobbits were creatures which had no particular fondness for the stuff, and so it was indeed a shock to Bilbo how much of the precious metal there was. The landscape of treasure he laid eyes on wasn’t just gold, though: it was silver and brass, steel and copper, alongside metals and stones he was certain he had never seen before in his life. Coins, plates, bowls, weapons, towers of precious jewels of all colors sat alongside full suits of armor, glittering in the faint light from above. When Bilbo looked to the ceiling he saw it was impossibly far away, the room a massive, arching hall that seemed to go on and on indefinitely. The architecture was all solid green stone, marbled with streaks of a darker green and of gold, which despite years of disuse gleamed warmly in tones that reminded Bilbo faintly of the sea. As the small hobbit descended into the land of jewels and precious metals, he remained silent, straining his ears for any sign of life within the mountain.

 The further he descended, the more panicked he grew. He wondered idly if the dragon already knew that he was there, if the dragon was watching him, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. The thought made Bilbo tense, his grip on Sting tightening, the skin on his knuckles pulled taut and white with the force of his hold.

In the center of all the gold was a great crater, a massive sunken spot amidst the rolling hills of metal, black and ominous amongst the inviting glitter of the treasure. As Bilbo drew closer he saw that the crater’s area was covered completely in ash, a thick layer that rose to his mid-calf. He stepped back quickly, avoiding the ash in worry that Smaug might see the clouds of dust that would inevitably rise from any step into the soft ash.

Bilbo continued to wander, steps as quiet as he could make them. His eyes roamed everywhere. From all the stories he had been told, Smaug had been absolutely _massive._ Yet even so, such a creature would be fairly obvious to spot, even in a room as cavernous as the Ereborian treasure room. The only clue as to the dragon’s whereabouts had been the crater, and apart from that, Bilbo saw neither scale nor claw of the mighty dragon.

“Where are you, _thief?”_ came a sudden hiss of a voice, making Bilbo freeze on the spot, his heart palpitating rather violently against his rib cage. Bilbo could barely breathe as the voice continued, drawing nearer. “I can hear you. I can _smell_ you.”

Bilbo held his breath as he looked around wildly, trying to place where the dragon could possibly be. He could not understand how such a supposedly massive monstrosity, so big that Bilbo was but a flea in comparison, could somehow be hidden amidst the gold.

He hurriedly ran away from the crater, unintentionally kicking up coins on his way. And quite suddenly, Bilbo found himself sprawled on the ground face-first, Sting falling from his grip, his body pushed down by an unknown force. With a shout, Bilbo turned himself onto his back, and what he found himself face-to-face with was simply not what he had expected.

A particularly _tiny_ scaled creature sat upon a golden tray, an arm’s length away from where Bilbo had fallen. It was certainly a dragon, but oddly enough, the little creature was just a tad bit bigger than a cat. It looked particularly proud as it stared at Bilbo.

"Why is it that I cannot see you, thief?” it asked, though it stared directly at—well, Bilbo supposed, _through_ —him. “I hear your breathing. I saw my coins jostle as you moved, yet you are invisible to me.”

Bilbo stuttered, staring at the small dragon with shock in his eyes. “Are you _Smaug?”_

 __“Answer my question, and then I may answer yours,” replied the dragon, amusement in his eyes of pure, glowing gold.

Bilbo toyed with the ring on his finger. He couldn’t find it in himself to feel that he was in danger, as the small creature was, of course, _small._ What damage could such a miniscule dragon like this one do, anyway? It was insane to think it, but for whatever reason, Bilbo decided to remove the ring from his finger.

The dragon blinked, surprised by Bilbo’s sudden appearance. “Ah, there you are. Of course, I already knew you were there. You are a particularly _pungent_ thief.”

 Bilbo frowned at that, but didn’t argue. “Are you Smaug?” he repeated.

“I am,” said Smaug. “You seem to have found me at a particularly bad time, thief.”

“I, well. I was certainly expecting something a bit _bigger.”_

Smaug seemed offended, tiny clouds of smoke and sparks flying from his mouth as he roared, “I am Smaug, the Chiefest and Greatest of Calamities!”

Bilbo tried to stifle the manic laugh that left his lips, but couldn’t. Smaug stared at Bilbo, fury in his glowing eyes.

“Why, pray tell, are you so small, o Smaug the Mighty?” asked Bilbo. Smaug huffed, puffing out his chest and fluttering his paper-thin wings in an attempt to look bigger than he was.

“Do you know _nothing_ of dragons, thief?” Smaug hissed.

“Apparently not,” replied Bilbo, watching Smaug with curiosity. A semblance of a sigh left Smaug’s mouth, settling down into a more comfortable position.

“Dragons are quite diverse in their species. There are the fire drakes, the cold drakes, and the stone dragons, to name a few. I myself am of a rare breed of fire drakes, called phoenixes,” began Smaug, smoke rising in pale tendrils from his nostrils as he spoke. “We are special in the sense that, unlike other dragons, we are truly immortal to time.

“Our immortality, though, comes at a price. Phoenixes, every single one of us, are destined to live in a reoccurring cycle of life and death. We are born, grow and mature to great strength in order to make our hoards, and then die in a great plume of ash and fire, only to begin the cycle anew, once again as a hatchling.

“I admit, it is rather disheartening to suddenly lose all your power and your strength, and be forced again to be this embarrassing size. But I have no quarrel with being immune to the passing of time.”

Bilbo stared down at the dragon in surprise. “So, how long does it take for you to grow to your… average size?”

Smaug stretched, tiny, spiked tail curling behind him. “It can take hundreds, if not thousands, of years.”

“And how long have you been this small?”

Smaug gave Bilbo a dirty look, a frown of sorts on his angular little face. “Not long.” The dragon approached Bilbo with confidence, stepping out from the tray and across the gold, onto Bilbo’s lap and then up his chest. Bilbo cringed as hooked claws prodded at his skin, surely drawing blood.

“Who are you and where do you come from, may I ask?” Smaug wandered up to Bilbo’s shoulder and stopped, turning a few times before finally sitting down, tail fanning back and forth across Bilbo’s back in an almost soothing motion.

Bilbo decided that it would be of no harm to tell the miniscule little creature his name. “I am Bilbo Baggins, of the Shire.”

“The Shire?” Smaug asked, his voice as soft as a purr. “I have never heard of this Shire.”

“It’s quite a long way away, I must say.”

“And what _are_ you, thief?” Smaug asked, a warm, scaled nose suddenly pressing against Bilbo’s hair for a moment as he breathed in. “You smell of dwarf, but you are no dwarf.”

“I am a hobbit,” answered Bilbo, tensing at the feel of Smaug’s muzzle against his hair.

“I have never eaten hobbit before,” the dragon said thoughtfully. That was enough to make Bilbo start, pushing the dragon off of him, Bilbo’s shirt going with it as it ripped against Smaug’s talons. The dragon made an indignant, and rather humorous, yelp, flapping his wings in a panic to not hit the ground. Smaug landed on his feet, glaring at the hobbit with something akin to betrayal in his eyes.

“And you never will!” Bilbo scolded the little beast.

“You need not be so _rude_ , thief,” Smaug said off-handedly, still glaring at Bilbo. Bilbo was amazed by how absurdly cat-like this tiny dragon was.

  
“You want to _eat_ me, and somehow you expect me to not be rude!”

Smaug wore that unusual-looking frown again. “I can’t _eat_ you! You are far too big! Or are you too dumb to understand that?”

Bilbo sighed. “This is absolutely ridiculous.”

Smaug approached, sitting closer to Bilbo. “We would not be in this situation if you hadn’t stolen from my hoard, you know.”

Bilbo choked out a laugh. “I stole nothing from you, you little worm! I _returned_ a piece of this gold to its rightful owner! _You’re_ the one who has stolen, from the dwarves who once lived in this mountain!”

“Maybe they should have kept it better protected, then,” huffed the dragon, pointedly not looking at Bilbo. “It’s not _my_ fault they had so much gold! I simply couldn’t resist!”

“Oh, quiet, you!” Bilbo suddenly grabbed Smaug, pinning his delicate front legs against his chest and his wings to his back. Smaug squawked and yelped, fire streaming from his mouth.

“Put me down! Thief! _Thief!”_ cried the dragon. Bilbo held Smaug far enough away from his body that the pitiful little flames could not hurt him.

Smaug bit at Bilbo’s hands to get him to let go, unable to get a good grasp because of the awkward position. He wheeled his spiked tail around, slashing with his back legs, hoping to be free of the tight grip. Bilbo stood, heading back up the stairs toward the passageway.

“Where are you taking me?” Smaug yelled, his attempted roars merely angry little cries. Oh, how _frustrating_ it was to be so small! Bilbo didn’t respond to the dragon, as the little beast tried desperately to free himself.

“If you stop squirming, maybe I’ll tell you,” said Bilbo. “And stop with the biting!”

After a few more moments of panicked wriggling in Bilbo’s grip, Smaug froze, his entire body going limp with defeat. “I’ll kill you for this,” he muttered. “Just you wait…”

Bilbo couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled in his chest. How absurd this all was!

He couldn’t wait to show this to the Company.

               


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, again! I've officially finished this year of school, so here I am with an update! :) This one was rather interesting to write, in my opinion. It's in Smaug's point of view, unlike the previous chapter. So there's that!  
> I hope to be updating more frequently now that I'm officially out of school, but I don't want anyone to be counting on exact dates from me. I'll be quite busy for the next few weeks, with work and trips and the like, but I promise to try my very best to post to this!  
> I apologize in advance for any grammatical errors, as this isn't officially beta'd or anything!  
> Anyway, please enjoy this chapter, and feel free to tell me what you think!

When Bilbo emerged from the mountain, a miniature dragon in hand, the entire Company burst out in an uproar. Various iterations of “ _What in Durin’s beard is that!”_ were shouted in the hobbit’s direction, making it very difficult for Bilbo to keep a straight face.

Bilbo opened his mouth to speak, but Smaug lifted his head before Bilbo could utter a single word. “I had forgotten how daft you dwarves are. Is it too difficult to comprehend that I’m a dragon?”

The dwarves were all left in stunned silence, staring at the beast. Smaug kept his head raised, scarlet scales shining like polished gems in the sunlight. The dragon let out a hiss of a laugh, enjoying the shock on the faces of Thorin and his company.

Bilbo cleared his throat. “This is Smaug.”

The statement garnered many an incredulous look in Bilbo’s direction. The first of the dwarves to speak was Thorin, who approached Bilbo, eyes furious, mouth set in a strong frown. Bilbo couldn’t help but flinch back as Thorin used his superior height to stand over the hobbit and the small creature in his hands. While Bilbo looked concerned, Smaug watched the once-King under the Mountain with interest. He shifted in Bilbo’s hands, attempting unsuccessfully to get more comfortable in the hobbit’s tight grip.

“What kind of sick joke is this?” demanded Thorin.

“I assure you, my being this small is _unfortunate,_ but certainly not a _joke,_ ” Smaug replied, unable to help the rumbling growl (more like a purr, really) that hummed in his chest. Thorin glared down at the dragon, before turning his gaze back up at the hobbit.

“If this is truly Smaug, why did you not kill it already?” Thorin asked, his hands clenched tightly into fists. “Have you not listened to a single one of our stories, Halfling? This creature is a _monster!”_

“But look at how _little_ it is!” said Kili suddenly. “How could this be Smaug?”

“The lad’s right,” murmured Balin. “Smaug was a massive, fearsome beast who could destroy an entire _city_ in mere moments. This cannot be the dragon!”

“What if it’s Smaug’s _spawn?_ What if Smaug has laid eggs?” asked Fili. That made the dwarves go into a panic.

“I have _not_ laid eggs! It's impossible! Male dragons cannot—” Smaug began.

“We must kill it!” growled Dwalin, cutting off the dragon. “Kill all of ‘em!”

“You most certainly will not kill him!” Bilbo yelled. The whole company stared at the hobbit as if he had grown a second head. Smaug turned his head just enough to watch the hobbit holding him. Bilbo was very pale, eyebrows furrowed. By the way Bilbo’s hands shook, he must have been _very_ nervous, indeed. It was almost sweet in a way, that the little hobbit wanted to save Smaug from the hands of the dwarves. Not that Smaug needed his help.

“He has killed so many of our people—” began Balin.

“It took our home from us!” roared Thorin. “Stole our livelihoods! Murdered whole families! And you’re _siding_ with it!”

“He’s the size of a _cat,_ Thorin! What kind of damage do you think this tiny little thing can do?” Bilbo replied exasperatedly, eyebrows furrowed, raising Smaug up just a bit. The dragon turned its head again, to look at the black-and-silver haired dwarf with eyes the color of sapphires.

“Yes, what kind of damage do you think I can do in this form, dwarf?” asked Smaug. “I obviously cannot raze a city to the ground, or eat a nasty dwarf like yourself—” Bilbo’s grip on Smaug tightened, fingers digging into the scales of Smaug’s belly, the small creature crying out with discomfort.

“Quiet, you!” hissed Bilbo. “Thorin, _please—”_

“This is not up for discussion,” Thorin ground out, interrupting Smaug’s captor mid-plea. “The beast must die!”

Smaug stopped paying attention to the arguing going on above his head, instead observing the dark-haired dwarf in front of him.

He wondered idly if he somehow recognized this odd dwarf from when he took the mountain. It seemed improbable to him, as he had entered so quickly and killed so many. He hadn’t really focused on the faces of the grimy little beings that he burned and crushed and ate.

It was the name, then, that he remembered. As Bilbo had mentioned, the dwarf was Thorin, son of someone or another, of the line of Durin. Smaug was never particularly interested in the genealogy of the dwarves, but he certainly knew of Durin’s folk. Of course he would know of the line that held the most beautiful and desirable hoard of treasure, in Smaug’s opinion, in all of Middle Earth.

Since this particular dwarf was of the line of Durin, his intention was clear. This dwarf wanted the mountain. And to get the mountain back and restore his title as the true King under the Mountain, the dwarf would need the beautiful and precious Arkenstone.

It would be particularly _humorous_ to give Thorin the Arkenstone. In his journeys throughout the treasury, Smaug had seen the Arkenstone many a time. He agreed that it was a very beautiful, almost hypnotic, stone, and he could tell just by looking at it that it was powerful. It twinkled brightly with every color Smaug could ever imagine, blending perfectly into a white aura that engulfed it entirely. The stone was so important to the dwarves that it signified royalty, kingship. Smaug knew for certain that having the stone would drive the dwarf mad. Whether the madness would be of greed or of power was yet to be seen.

And Smaug could feel the dragon sickness within Thorin, simmering faintly, just below the surface. It reminded Smaug of himself, and of his kin; Thorin’s dragon sickness was exactly the same tug that made the drakes claim their hoards. Once this sickness spread, Thorin would be as good as a drake, all but in appearance, Smaug supposed.  

Perhaps it wouldn’t even _take_ the Arkenstone to drive the dwarf mad, Smaug thought with amusement. Perhaps just seeing the treasure would be enough.

Though Smaug was loathe to let filthy dwarves inside his mountain, he almost _wanted_ to, just to see what sort of trouble it would cause.

“Why not just give him a trial period?” suggested Bofur cautiously. “I mean, look at him, Thorin. He’s but a wee hatchling!”

“He’s kind of cute!” murmured Kili to Fili. Smaug turned his head just enough to level the brothers with a searing glare, in an attempt to scare the two off. Kili snickered.

“We could learn from him,” suggested Ori, slowly and hesitantly. “Imagine all of the history he has experienced! And nothing of its sort have ever been written down before!” Surprising, really, Smaug thought, that a _dwarf_ would be interested in his personal tales.

“Can't you see, dwarf, that I cannot do much more than bite off a fingertip or set your hair on fire?” said Smaug to Thorin, baring his tiny fangs in a semblance of a smile. “As the one with the strange hat said, I am but a hatchling.”

Thorin leveled Smaug with a piercing glare. “Why should I trust a worm like you?”

“I haven’t killed you yet, have I?” Smaug said. “Dragons aren’t particularly fond of conversing with their dinner, you know.”

Bilbo tried to hold back a laugh.

“This is absurd!” Dwalin shouted. “Why are we arguin’ about this? The little beast must die!”

“Absolutely,” agreed Balin, arms crossed over his beard, a frown set on his mouth.

The arguing continued for a long while, Smaug watching on with ebbing interest. The sun, by then, had already set, and one of the dwarves had started a fire.

“If I show you the Arkenstone, will you let me live?” asked Smaug suddenly, to stir up the dwarves. He had no intention of _giving_ the stone away, but he supposed it wouldn’t hurt to give the dwarf a little peek. Plus, then he could see what the stone might do to the dwarf’s psyche. Also, it wasn’t like any of these dwarves could actually _kill_ him. His hide, while resilient, was indeed penetrable in this vulnerable stage of his growth, and Smaug supposed that they _could_ hurt him while his scales were maturing and hardening into an impenetrable armor; even if the dwarves dealt him a deadly blow, the little creature would simply burst into flames and be reborn again.

 _“The Arkenstone?”_ The dwarf named Thorin turned to face the dragon, strong eyebrows furrowed, eyes showing his shock and doubt. Smaug leveled an absolutely perplexed, practiced, look.

Smaug feigned confusion in his speech, tilting his head to the side. “Is that not what you came here to get? I was under the impression that you were the King under the Mountain that I exiled all those years ago.”

Thorin looked torn. Why should he trust this little murderer? He had caused the death of so many of his kin. He had stolen _everything_ from the dwarves of Erebor. There was absolutely no reason for Thorin to trust the dragon, but the thought of finally having the Arkenstone was certainly very appealing…

“Take us to it,” Thorin said finally. “And then I will decide your fate.”

Smaug presented the dwarf with a toothy grin. “Excellent. I will take you to it,” he said, turning his head to look at Bilbo, who still held onto him. “Might you put me down, thief? I have legs for a reason.”

Bilbo snorted, releasing the dragon from his grip. Smaug landed on the stone on his clawed feet. Looking up at the dwarves and the hobbit, Smaug realized what an utterly poor decision it was to have had the hobbit let go of him. The dwarves and the hobbit towered over him in a way that made him intensely uncomfortable; though Smaug could not be killed by these folk, being so small had a particular feeling of vulnerability attached to it that Smaug absolutely loathed.

He very quickly clambered up Bilbo’s leg, claws catching on fabric as he ascended to Bilbo’s shoulder. “On second thought, the view is _much_ better from up here,” Smaug muttered, more to himself than to the group around him.

Smaug’s reaction had elicited quite a few surprised snickers from the group, as they watched in humor as Smaug curled his tail around Bilbo’s neck gently to keep himself from falling.

“Lead the way, then,” Thorin muttered, staring at the darkened passageway.

Oh, how entertaining this would be, thought Smaug, looking pleased with his decision. He swatted Bilbo’s head with a wing to get him to move forward, garnering a startled “oof!” from the hobbit and a humorously serious glare, before Bilbo began to lead the thirteen dwarves down the tunnel.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry it's been so long. I had a serious case of writer's block until this morning.  
> This chapter goes from being carefree to very not. I kept getting comments about how cute this was (particularly Smaug), and that definitely wasn't my intention, so sorry, it's about to get really ugly.  
> Warning: pretty gory descriptions  
> Please let me know what you think! I'll try to update again soon because this is kind of a gigantic cliffhanger (sorry!)  
> UPDATE: i edited some descriptions of Smaug from chapter 2 because i realized i wasn't making much sense!! please reread chapter 2 in order for this chapter to actually be intelligible!  
> ALSO, sorry if my grammar/english in general is a little hard to understand. English isn't my native language, but i try my best!!  
> Enjoy! :)

“Sure is dark in here,” said Nori offhandedly.

“Anyone got a torch?” asked Fili.

Smaug rolled his glowing eyes. He had forgotten the uselessness of mortal’s eyes, that they could not see the way in the darkness of the tunnel. How had _dwarves_ , who lived within the dark recesses of mountains, survived with such poor vision? It was completely beyond the dragon’s comprehension.

 Smaug then took a deep breath, his chest burning in a comforting, familiar way, before breathing a thin stream of fire to illuminate the passageway, the dwarves shouting in alarm at the sudden, blinding light before them. The hobbit beneath Smaug’s claws cringed at the fire being so close to his face, but did nothing to stop the dragon.

“That sure is… convenient?” said Bofur, the statement trailing off in a way that made it seem more like a question. If Smaug wasn’t otherwise occupied he probably would have laughed then. The rest of the company murmured their agreements as they followed Smaug and Bilbo down into the treasury, their demeanor growing more nervous and jumpy the closer they got to the main chamber.

Three times the group had been left in total darkness as Smaug ran out of breath. Three times the company all ran into each other with sudden alarm as they stopped and waited for the little dragon to light up the way again. Smaug felt oddly domestic in his job as a living torch, but held back his biting remarks and complaints.

Upon reaching the treasury, Smaug felt a trill of satisfaction as the dwarves all but stumbled over each other to get a look at his hoard. The hobbit, as he had been the first time Smaug had seen him, seemed unimpressed by the vast sea of precious gold, unlike his dwarven companions.

“The Arkenstone,” said Thorin. “Where is it?”

Smaug cocked his little head for a moment, puzzling over where he had seen it last. He’d been meaning to bring it to the throne room, where he had taken to keeping his favorite trinkets, but had forgotten to do so with all of the commotion. The stone, if he recalled correctly, was near his crater.

“I’ll go and fetch it then,” said the dragon, bounding off of Bilbo’s shoulder. Smaug was caught suddenly from behind, an offended squawk rolling off his tongue. He turned his head, enraged, to look at the fool who had grabbed him by the tail. Thorin Oakenshield was holding the dragon upside down, glowering down that the little beast.

“Take us to it,” the dwarf demanded, before unceremoniously letting go of Smaug, watching with an almost amused look in his eyes as the dragon tumbled to the ground in a heap. With a fiery, offended huff, the dragon righted himself, before beginning the ascent into the treasury, muttering foul curses under his breath the whole way.

The descent was rather anticlimactic, but amusing nonetheless for Smaug. He knew the terrain well, as the dwarves did not; he took great pleasure in seeing them slip and fall on the uneven ground. Of course, the thought of their horrid dwarven stench sinking into the gold which he coveted so much was by no means appealing, but the thought of some minor physical injury to the troop of daft dwarves made him happy in a way.

The dwarves, Thorin Oakenshield in particular, were outraged upon seeing the massive crater upon which Smaug had died all those years ago, only to be reborn as the puny little flea of a dragon he was today. Smaug didn’t care, anyway. It wasn’t as if he could _control_ when he died and when he was reborn in the comforting flames of his ancestors.

“It’s here,” Smaug said, his voice calm despite the excitement he felt. He made a motion toward a pile of gold just beyond the crest of his crater. The dwarves behind him stopped, watching the dragon soar across the crater and land on the golden heap. He began digging away at the gold, coins and jewels along with bits of armor and delicately carved weapons crashing down as he searched.

Had he put it in a goblet? Or did he put in in a box? Smaug pondered to himself as he searched, a tune in his throat as he rather gleefully inspected the area which he knew the Arkenstone had been before.

Oh, how exciting it was! Soon, Smaug would get to witness up close the power of the stone, how it would twist and bring forth the madness just simmering below the skin of Thorin Oakenshield up above the surface, where it would change him, destroy him. Thorin Oakenshield would be no more; he’d have the heart of a dragon, Smaug supposed. He would feel the uncontrollable tug to the gold, to the hoard, to the _Arkenstone._ And Smaug intended to enjoy every single moment of Oakenshield’s descent into madness.

And then he saw it. Pushing aside a heavy gilded helmet, the unmistakable shine of the Arkenstone twinkled before him. Smaug felt a semblance of a smile tug at his mouth as he viewed the stone. Behind him, he heard the Company gasp at the sight. The telltale sound of heavy boots against metal followed, approaching him rapidly. Smaug took the stone between his teeth, tugging it free from the pile of treasure. He turned to see Thorin approaching, eyes set on the stone, dark with the desire for power.

Smaug realized very suddenly what was about to occur.

A hand clamped down around Smaug’s maw, the force of it crushing Smaug’s teeth against the impenetrable stone. Smaug cried out, his body straining violently against the grip, wings beating furiously. His neck snapped back suddenly, and the tiny body ceased moving. Smaug could barely feel the cold steel slice through his jugular and his body fall to the floor. The cold, sharp piercing sensation was met with the warmth of the flames that burst from his neck as his consciousness faded away.

The body of the once-dragon burst into flames, the head of which remained in Thorin’s grasp. The dwarf didn’t seem to notice as his hand began to blister under the scorching heat, flesh turning red and then black, the metal of his ring bubbling against his cracking skin. The Company stood behind him, awe and absolute terror on their faces as their leader turned to them.

“Kneel,” he commanded, his eyes glinting with the light of the Arkenstone as a sinister grin spread across his lips.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everybody! Sorry it's been so long. I have no excuse other than absurd writer's block, and so I didn't update for more than a month. AND I left it on a cliffhanger! Aren't I the worst? 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this (filler) chapter. Honestly, I'm just trying to figure out how to get to all the good/cool shit that's going to happen eventually. Ah, writing. I'm so bad at it. Just please cut me some slack for being a shitty writer, haha...
> 
> As always, please let me know what you think! It makes my day each time I get a new comment! See you next time! :)

When Smaug awoke again, he was alone. With a displeased groan of pain, he stretched out his body, a yawn tugging his mouth open wide, baring sharp little fangs and a pink forked tongue. He opened his eyes slowly, blinking away the weariness and sticky residue keeping them shut.

He was still where he’d died a while before, he noted. As he licked the ash off his scales until they shone, he thought back on his decisions.

Smaug had certainly made a bigger mistake than expected by giving Thorin Oakenshield the Arkenstone. That much was absolutely certain. He had always been aware of how powerful an item the Arkenstone was, but he had never known that it would have _so_ much power on the dwarven king. Whatever he had been before laying eyes on the Arkenstone was gone; the stone now ruled his mind with a violent ferocity.

The small dragon stood up then, shaking his wings clean of ash and the flaky residue of his rebirth. Looking around, he saw none of the dwarves, nor the thieving hobbit. He could hear them rummaging about above him, heavy footfalls pounding against long-since-polished stone.

He took a few weak, stumbling steps before giving up on walking on his shaky legs entirely, instead spreading his wings and soaring up the steps. He had to see the outcome of his extremely poor decisions.

“Is that a bat?”

“No, it’s too big. That can’t be a bat!”

“Wait a minute. Is that the bloody _dragon?”_

“I thought the little bugger died!”

“ _Smaug!”_

His wings ached from the exertion, his body feeling far too heavy for the papery wings held together by spindly young bones and underdeveloped muscles. The stale air of the mountain was laden with dust, making it difficult for Smaug to breathe properly, tiny lungs gasping desperately for air in sharp pants that gave him no relief. His head spun, from the voices calling out and the burning pain in his shoulders and the thick air clasped tightly around him. And with one last heave of his wings, Smaug could take no more, plunging to the ground. He skidded across the stone on his stomach, barely able to keep his eyes open despite the thunderous footfalls that approached him from all sides.

 

“Take it to Thorin!” said a gruff voice. One of the dwarves, certainly.

 

“No!” cried another. A softer voice. A higher-pitched one. The thief. Of course.

  
Smaug tried to force himself back onto his feet, but couldn’t. He cursed his weakness, his size, his ancestors. He coughed out a roar, to scare away the dwarves approaching him. It didn’t work.

Large, rough hands poked at him, checked his breathing and heartbeat, stretched out his wings. Smaug let out a pained moan as the dwarves studied his prone form.

“Give him some air! He can’t breathe with all of you so close!” Bilbo shouted. Unsurprisingly, the prodding did not cease. Smaug squirmed, snapping at a few fingers that drew too close, threatening the dwarves with fire, but none of his efforts seemed to do him much good.

Smaug could hardly focus on any of the beings hovering above him, just barely cross-eyed from trying to focus on their hands that were far too close for comfort. He was tired. So very tired.

He should have waited, he realized. Waited in the gold until his strength had come back before going off to find the dwarves. Now he lay before them, prone and unbearably weak, unable to fight back.

With his head against the ground, Smaug could feel the vibrations of an approaching person, each heavy step making the stone floor buzz beneath Smaug’s scaly cheek.

Smaug had barely lifted up his head to see who had approached before his exhaustion overpowered him.

* * *

 

Bilbo stepped in front of Smaug as Thorin rounded the corner. His breath caught upon seeing the leader of the Company; Thorin had been unapproachable for days, keeping to himself in the treasury and commanding the rest of the Company to begin the slow restoration of Erebor. This moment was the first time Bilbo had seen Thorin since he had severed Smaug’s head from his neck.

“What is this?” asked Thorin as he approached. “Why are you not working?”

It was Kili who spoke up first. “We, uh, saw something flying around the treasury—” Bilbo pinched Kili suddenly to quiet him, panic rising in his thundering heart.

“And what was this flying creature?” Thorin looked down upon them with cold, emotionless eyes, one hand on the hilt of his sword and the other, the one burned beyond use, clasped tightly against his chest, bound in bandages.

“A bat, Thorin,” Bilbo replied quickly. When the dark haired dwarf turned to direct his gaze at the hobbit, Bilbo realized he had made a mistake.

Before the King could utter a word, Bilbo said, “My sincerest apologies _, your Majesty_.”

Thorin scoffed, looking unimpressed by the hobbit and crew of dwarves. “I take it you solved your little problem?”

“We’re workin’ on it. Th’ little bugger’s a fast one,” answered Dwalin.

“Work harder, then,” replied Thorin, casting a glare at the troupe of dwarves, before focusing on the small, trembling hobbit, who looked pointedly away from the now King. “Bilbo, Ori requests your assistance in the library.”

Bilbo nodded frantically in agreement, unsure in the power of his voice at the moment.

“Bofur, take two others with you to the mines,” Thorin continued. “Bombur, go and relight the forges.” The group then began to dwindle, as Bofur, Bifur and Gloin hurried down the hall toward the mines, and Bombur down to the forges.

Thorin turned, his back to them as he said, “Nori, check if there are any unfriendly eyes upon the mountain. The rest of you: go make yourselves useful out of my sight. Balin, Fili, Kili, with me.” He thundered off then, without waiting for the rest. Balin, Fili and Kili rushed after him, Kili looking nervously back at Bilbo before following his uncle up the stairs to the throne room.

Bilbo let out a breath he had not realized he was holding. The remaining dwarves dispersed, leaving Bilbo alone with the small, unconscious dragon at his feet. The hobbit kneeled, running a hand across Smaug’s spiny back with a sigh. Bilbo gingerly picked up the dragon, slipping him into the folds of his coat.

 

“I’ll keep you safe, don’t you worry,” Bilbo said softly to the unconscious dragon, knowing full well his words would not be heard, before standing up and hurrying to the library.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my lovelies!
> 
> I can't believe it's been so long since I was last able to update! I've been working, and more recently, packing for my move back to college. Who knew moving into an apartment would be so stressful?
> 
> Anyway, this chapter is an awkward filler chapter, but I think it's necessary to have a few of those before the actual good stuff happens. So hopefully soon all the awesome drama will occur!
> 
> Please stay posted for more! Since school starts back up for me on the 26th of August I might possibly be able to update once more before being completely bogged down with homework. We'll see.
> 
> Enjoy!! :)

Bilbo was frightened.

Not of the small, sleeping dragon that was curled up asleep on a bed made of Bilbo’s coat and rags he had found in one of the many desk drawers within the vast library of Erebor, nor of the librarian himself, the gentlest dwarf of the group, Ori. No; Bilbo was afraid just _thinking_ of what Thorin would do when he found out that Bilbo had hidden a _dragon_ from him.

And, of course, it was not just _any_ dragon. It was Smaug, the once furious and immense beast who had singlehandedly caused the ruin the entire civilization that had, in generations past, resided within the same mountain. Smaug, who had destroyed Thorin’s life, along with the lives of so many of his people, who had murdered and eaten countless dwarves and had stolen all they owned.

Bilbo knew he shouldn’t feel anything but disgust or perhaps hatred toward Smaug, but looking down at the minute creature, who looked so deceivingly innocent, curled up in a tight, trembling ball among the threadbare rags, Bilbo could only feel a sense of sympathy.

Smaug clearly was not used to having such a small body. He thought himself as if he still was a beast that could level a whole city in mere moments, although he could scarcely take on a mouse in his current condition. Smaug’s cockiness had been his downfall, when it came to his attempt to outsmart Thorin.

Bilbo had heard Balin talking of it in soft mutters to Dwalin in the pale hours of the morning when the mountain began to glimmer with the faint rays of the dawn, before any of the other dwarves had awoken from their tumultuous, unsatisfying sleep; how the Arkenstone which Thorin now possessed had driven him past the brink of madness. The stone had _changed_ Thorin upon contact. He was no longer their noble leader, no longer a worthy king. He had allowed the stone to dig its venomous talons into his heart, allowed it to transform him into the unfeeling and uncaring being he was. Thorin had taken Smaug’s place as being the mountain’s monstrous guardian.

“Is he alright?” asked Ori, his voice echoing softly in the cavernous library as he approached Bilbo, who had been sitting with the sleeping dragon in a small corridor, hidden away from sight. Bilbo looked up at Ori, his face grim and drawn with exhaustion.

“I reckon he’s just tired,” replied Bilbo as Ori sat with alongside him.

“How do you think he came back to life?” Ori continued. “You and I both know that Thorin severed his head from his body. And I’ve never heard of such a thing happening before…”

“Smaug called himself a phoenix, when I spoke to him before all of this mess started,” said Bilbo, watching as Ori’s eyebrows furrowed with confusion, his mouth pulling into a frown. “He told me that his kind is stuck in a cycle, of sorts. They are born, grow in strength and size, and eventually die. You saw that odd crater earlier. That’s where he died before.”

“And then he comes back to life?” Ori asked, puzzled.

“Yes,” said Bilbo. “Only, smaller. A hatchling rather than a fully grown beast.”

Ori smiled then, looking from Bilbo down to the tiny, slumbering dragon. “We’re quite lucky we found him when we did. He must have died very recently, for him to have been so small when you found him.”

“That must be quite the story,” Bilbo mused. “Perhaps we can convince him to tell us of it someday soon.”

"Just imagine what could’ve happened if he’d been full size!” Ori pondered aloud, looking concerned. “We would surely all be dead with such a beast on our hands!”

“Oh, I’m sure things would have gone quite differently,” answered Bilbo, nodding in agreement. “I’ve no doubt we would have had quite the conundrum on our hands, if that had been the case.”

Smaug squirmed then, wriggling further into the rags that made up his makeshift bed. He huffed softly, smoke rising from his nostrils in wisps of gray.

Ori’s face was full of wonder as he stared down at Smaug, reaching out a hand to very softly touch the warm scales on his back, running a hand down the jagged peaks along his spine before pulling his hand away quickly, as if he had been burned. “We can learn so much from him, if we keep him secret.”

“We _must_ keep him a secret, Ori,” Bilbo said forcefully. He leveled Ori with a serious look. “You must promise not to tell _anyone_ of this.”

Ori nodded, face grim. “You have my word.”

“And you have mine,” came the voice of the sleepy dragon, words slurring together just so. The hobbit and the dwarf looked down sharply, only to see Smaug lift his head just enough for him to be able to look around. “I see you’ve moved me. Where is this?”

“The library,” said Bilbo. “Are you alright, Smaug?”

Smaug scoffed. “Yes, I’m absolutely _peachy._ There’s nothing better than getting your head _sliced clean off your neck_ and then being _assaulted_ by a horde of disgusting, smelly dwarves. It’s my _favorite pastime,_ you know.” Smaug stretched, a groan leaving his lips as he tried to move exhausted, overworked muscles.

“Smaug. Seriously,” deadpanned Bilbo, not looking amused, but rather concerned.

Smaug sighed. “I’m tired and sore. It is just how rebirth always is.”

“Are you hungry?” asked Ori.

“Obscenely,” replied Smaug, sitting up, kneading the rags beneath his feet, talons catching against loose threads that snapped easily beneath the force. “Might you have anything in your pockets for me, thief?”

“I haven’t got any food,” Bilbo said. “I can find some for you, if you promise to stay here with Ori and keep hidden.”

Smaug looked pensive for a moment, before answering, “Since I’m in no rush to be killed again by your mad dwarf leader, I think I can promise you that I will stay.”

Bilbo seemed to deflate with relief, a small smile lingering on his lips. “Alright, then. Ori, make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.”

Smaug looked hurt by the statement but said nothing, rather huffing angrily and settling himself back down amongst the rags, muttering under his breath about “thieves” and “unpleasant hobbits.”

Bilbo stood, exchanging a few parting words with Ori before shuffling out of the library quickly, walking on silent feet toward the makeshift kitchen.

The darkness of the green halls made Bilbo uncomfortable. He felt as if he had not seen the light of the sun in years, though scarcely a week had passed since the dwarves of Erebor had reclaimed their home.

He thought the darkness at first to be some sort of illness brought about by Smaug, but even whilst the dragon lay dead upon the gold he had hoarded for so very many years, the darkness continued to persist and encroach, leaving a tangible, choking air about the ruins of the once-great dwarven kingdom. Because of this, Bilbo was absolutely sure that the darkness had come from the Arkenstone which Thorin coveted so much. Bilbo, like all others, had noticed the declining health and sanity of the once-exiled king.

The thought, like the darkness surrounding him, was grim. Could the stone truly have been the cause of Thorin’s descent into madness? Could it have been the treasure? Could it have been Smaug himself? Bilbo could recall Balin mentioning the well-known strain of madness that ran through the bloodline of Durin; the trait that had hindered the lives of his predecessors seemed to have fallen upon Thorin now.

Upon entering the kitchens, Bilbo found Dori and Oin sitting next to the fire, drinking tea from ancient, chipped cups.

“Would you care from some tea, Bilbo?” asked Dori, almost immediately upon Bilbo’s entrance. Bilbo smiled wanly and shook his head.

“I’d love to, really, but I must be off to the library once again,” Bilbo replied as he nabbed a piece of dried meat from the meager remainders of the Company’s supplies. The two dwarves watched him curiously but said nothing of Bilbo’s actions.

“Have you been able to inspect Thorin’s hand, Oin?” Bilbo asked.

“Thorin refuses to let anyone treat him,” Oin replied gruffly, concern in his eyes. “That wound will certainly become infected if he keeps mistreating it the way he does.”

“We must convince him to let us care for it,” Bilbo urged, frowning. Oin made a sound of agreement, but nothing more. With a few quick parting words, Bilbo left the two, hurrying back towards the library.

He had not taken but fifteen steps before he was stopped. Dwalin gave Bilbo an expectant look, arms crossed over his wide chest, towering intimidatingly over Bilbo.

“Would ye care to explain what happened earlier?” Dwalin asked in a quiet but firm voice.

Bilbo sighed, knowing that there would be no point in hiding Smaug from Dwalin, who had so quickly stepped up to lie for the sake of protecting the small creature.

“Dwalin,” Bilbo breathed, his face ashen with fear. “Please, you musn’t tell—“

“I won’t tell him anything,” Dwalin snapped, voice low. “I swear on my life. I know better than to tell _him_.”

Bilbo relaxed just slightly at the dwarf’s words. His eyes darted around, making sure that the coast was clear before softly clearing his throat.

“Not here,” insisted Bilbo. His eyes darted back down the dark passageway from which he had come earlier.

Dwalin nodded, uncrossing his arms. Bilbo took off down the hallway, his heart pounding in his chest.

The best friend of the mad king Thorin followed behind Bilbo, heavy footfalls echoing down the emerald halls.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, please feel free to let me know what you think of this chapter! I love hearing everyone's opinions and advice. As a pretty inexperienced writer, comments do help me with writing future chapters, because I don't have a second opinion before posting.
> 
> See you next time! :)


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